Someone to Love

But she had not denied chatting and laughing with her maid. What a strange creature she was. And he had to admit he was altogether too fascinated by her.

“My sisters are in Bath,” she said, “living in a house on the Crescent with their grandmother, Mrs. Kingsley. She must be wealthy—the Crescent is the most prestigious address in Bath. Do you know anything about her?”

“Her husband was born into money and did not squander any as far as I know,” he said. “I believe she too is of a moneyed background. Hence the marriage between your father and their daughter. Their son chose the church as a career and has remained with his flock, though I very much doubt he has needed to since the death of his father. Camille and Abigail will be well looked after, Anna. They will not starve. Neither will their mother.”

“If only it were a matter of just money, I would be reassured,” she said. “Abigail has been to the Pump Room with her grandmother for the morning promenade, but Camille has not been seen.”

“And who, pray,” he asked, “is your spy?”

“That is a horrid word,” she said. “I begged my friend Joel to keep an eye upon them if at all possible, to find out if they have been able to make a new life for themselves. I suppose I pictured them in near destitution. He discovered who their grandmother is and where she lives, and he saw Abigail entering the Pump Room one morning, though he did not go in himself. He found out it was she.”

“An admirable friend,” he said.

“He called upon Mr. Beresford for me too,” she said, “though I then had to write for myself. He would not reveal anything to Joel.”

“Beresford?” He raised his eyebrows.

“The solicitor through whom my father supported me at the orphanage,” she reminded him. “I have not had a reply yet. I hope he can tell me who my mother’s parents are or were, and where they live or lived—the Reverend and Mrs. Snow, that is.”

“Anna,” he said, “did they not turn you out after your mother’s death and abandon you to your father’s dubious care?”

“That is what Mr. Brumford was told,” she said. “But I need to discover for myself. “

They were on South Audley Street, moving in the direction of Westcott House.

“You enjoy causing yourself pain?” he asked her. “Is it not to be avoided at all costs?”

She turned her head to look into his face, and their steps slowed. “But life and pain go hand in hand,” she said. “One cannot live fully unless one faces pain at least occasionally. You must surely agree.”

He raised his eyebrows. “No pain, no joy?” he said. And actually he did agree. Life, he had learned, was a constant pull of opposites, which one needed to bring into balance if one was to live a sane and meaningful life. He knew it with his head, his heart, and his soul. Was there a part of him that did not know it, though, or that at least resisted putting it into practice? Had he erected a barricade against pain and thus denied himself joy? But did not everyone avoid pain at all costs?

What had his master meant by love? He had been unwilling to explain, and Avery had been teased by the question for more than a decade.

“Oh,” she said, “I am not sure life can be defined with such simplistic phrases.”

He knew a moment of hilarity as he imagined having such a conversation with any other lady of his acquaintance—or with one of his mistresses. Or with any of his male acquaintances, for that matter. He took his leave of her after seeing her inside the house, having refused her invitation to go up to the drawing room for refreshments. He found himself taking his leave of her maid too.

“Goodbye, Your Grace,” she said, grinning cheekily at him. “You did not pounce on Miss Snow and devour her after all, did you? But was it because I was there to rush to her rescue, or would you not have done it anyway? I will never know, will I?” And she laughed merrily at her own joke.

So did the very young footman, who was clearly new. Another orphan from Bath?

Avery was too astonished even to use his quizzing glass. But he did shake his head when he was outside the house again and startled two ladies on the other side of the street by chuckling aloud.

Thirteen

Avery kept his distance from South Audley Street during the following week. He also dined each evening at one of his clubs with acquaintances who made not a single mention of either bonnets or the education of Lady Anastasia Westcott. It was very refreshing. On the afternoon of the eighth day, however, having just returned from taking Jessica to Gunter’s for an ice in an effort to raise her still-drooping spirits, he stepped into the drawing room to pay his respects to her mother.

“Anastasia is ready to meet the ton,” she told him without preamble, “or as ready as she will ever be. We had quite an argument about how it is to be done, but I will not bore you with the details.”

“Thank you,” Avery murmured.

“We decided upon a full ball,” she said. “Nothing less will do, though one hesitates to call it a come-out ball at her age. She will make her curtsy to the queen at the next Drawing Room, and the ball will be held on the evening of the following day. We had a spirited discussion upon where it would be held.”

And having promised not to bore him with details, she proceeded to do just that as she poured him a cup of tea he did not want any more than he wanted the details. It seemed that the dowager countess could not host the ball because she was too elderly, and Cousin Matilda was hopeless. The Molenors lived so far to the north of England that if they were to trip and fall they would land in Scotland. They came to town only once in a long while and really knew hardly anyone. So they would be a poor choice as hosts of such a grand event. The house the new Earl of Riverdale had leased for the Season did not even have a ballroom, a fact that more or less excluded him and Cousin Althea from the running, and it would be entirely inappropriate to use Westcott House for the occasion.